Insanity: A Tale of Thieves
by Cepel
Summary: Many a thief believe the royal vault can never be robbed, and with the Thieves Guild back in circulation, many do not dare. But there are some daring enough to think otherwise. A group of six freelancers must work together to pull off the impossible through creative antics and an unorthodox usage of resources that would make Sheogorath proud. Are they mad? Heh, definitely.


A bone chilling wind assaulted a man as he passed through on the road to Windhelm. He could see the snow shoveled bridge of stone as the carriage drew near, the docks were frozen, as always. Argonians and nords unloaded goods and supplies, while men stood on the wooden planks checking off lists on pieces of paper. Windhelm was no different than usual. As cold as Molag Baal's ass, and still as dull and ugly as hagraven. There was nothing appealing about this place. Why his contact wanted to meet here, he had no idea.

The carriage stopped at the stables. The man handed the carriage driver his coin and stepped off the wagon, feet crunching the snow beneath. He rubbed his arms for warmth, despite having fur on top of his normal leather armor, it was still unbearably cold this north in Skyrim. No matter what time of the year, the northern portion of the province was always locked in an eternal winter, hot days were seldom. However, that didn't bother the Nords who made their homes there, both hardy and resolute. It made sense why they pursued something as stupid as dying for the right to worship something. Stupid stormcloaks. But that concerned him little, he walked along the stone bridge, kicking some snow out of the way with his boot before coming to the gate.

A stormcloak guard stood at the entrance, polishing his greatsword with a rag. "State your business, brother Nord." The guards were highly edgy and were quick to judge others, seeing Imperials, Bretons, High elves, and Khajits as spies or enemies. Luckily, he was a Nord, one of the only races these bigots actually liked. He passed through the gates easily, only mentioning he was on business.

Candlehearth Hall was directly in front of the main gates, making it easy to spot. His work was cut out for him. He grimaced as he saw a Nord running his mouth at a dark elf, calling her an imperial spy. The racist pig also mentioned several words along the lines of "slut", "whore", "worthless", "cunt", and "dirty elven bitch". Personally, the man hated seeing such a piece of human refuse doing such a thing, but he ignored it for now. There was no point in skewering the bigot with his dagger and getting tossed into the keep.

The inside of the tavern was warm, unlike the harsh cold of the outside. The barkeep asked him what he'd like. He ordered some goat cheese, beef stew, and some regular mead. Black-Briar mead was the quality stuff, but it was highly expensive outside of Riften and he had no money to indulge in such luxury. He headed upstairs, trying to identify his contact. The room was of guards on break and other citizens who sought refuge from the bitter cold. The bard, a young dark elf, sung the "Age of Oppression" with a beautiful voice, filling the tavern with life. He spotted his contact, a darker skinned Breton man with mid length black hair, drinking a mug of mead.

He sat down beside him, and his food was brought to the table. "Been a while since you last called me, Klaine."

The Breton raised his mug, "Yes, it has. How is life treating you, Orin?" It had been nearly two years since his last job with the Nord, a fair amount of things could happen in that brief period of time. After all, the return of the dragons only happened in less than a year, and now they were everywhere.

Orin nodded and pursed his lips, "Well, you know. Scraping by. Property is getting harder to purchase these days, with the war and the increase in muggings and murder. Smuggling got much easier though."

"I can imagine. Can't afford a home in a hold?"

"Do I look like I have that kind of money? Besides, renovations cost and I have pissed off a lot of people, Klaine. I'd get gutted if I bought a home or manor in any of the major holds."

"There you have a point."

"Anyway, what did you bring for me this time? I'll have to let you know that I don't enjoy this city. Too bloody cold and full of people I don't like. There must be a reason you chose this place." Orin took a swig of mead and a spoonful of stew.

Klaine himself took a drink from his mug, waiting for the liquid to wet his throat before speaking. "Let's get to business then. Orin, as you know, you're a specialist of sorts."

The Nord gave Klaine a quizzical look. "I am? Of what sort?"

"The ridiculous."

"Are you calling me a clown?"

"No. I'm saying you specialize in the most daring and strangest of operations."

"Hmmm, I don't follow. What sort of operations do you mean specifically?"

"Remember that job in High Rock?"

"Ah, that one. That I remember pretty clearly."

"Tell me that wasn't something you pulled out of your arse."

"It was creative, that was for sure."

"Orin, you had monks rob a bank blind! No other person could have managed that. It was so unbelievable that the kingdoms couldn't even put out a bounty out of fear of being ridiculed. It was genius." Klaine chuckled, taking a bite out of his bread. Orin shortly joined too, recalling the sheer amount of ridiculousness that occurred during that heist.

Orin smiled and nodded humbly. "I honestly didn't think it would work. But I'm glad it did. Paid handsomely for some renovations to my home."

"Where is this home you speak of anyway?"

"That's a secret."

"Ah well. Moving on, my employer saw your work and figured you were the right man for the job."

"He recognized my work? By the eight, my fortune is looking up. It's about time. So, what's the job?"

Klaine hesitated for a minute. It was like he was having trouble breaking it to Orin. He drank some more mead before he turned to the Nord and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "This might be the biggest job of your entire lifetime, my friend."

Orin rolled his eyes. "Come on, Klaine. Stop it with the vagueness, tell me already."

"Fine, but you might want to take a drink first. Well, more like an entire mug beforehand."

Orin raised a brow. "Why's that?"

"Because your target is the Royal Bank of Solitude," the Breton said with complete calm. He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The Nordic man across from him stared before drinking his entire mead mug. "I'm going to need more mead."

"Take your time."

After two more cups of one stiff drink, Orin was finally able to face Klaine. He wasn't drunk, he was a good drinker and could hold his liquor. "You mean to tell me, that this crazy bastard wants me to rob the Royal fucking vault? OF SOLITUDE?"

Klaine waved a hand, looking around him to see if anyone heard. "Keep your voice down fool. We don't know who could be eavesdropping." Taverns were excellent places to meet up and equally excellent at obtaining information from nearby conversation.

"I think whose eavesdropping is the least of my worries. What I'm concerned about how insane this sounds. You do know the severity of what you're employer is asking me to do right? I'm thief not a god or a daedra, it's basically suicide. A fucking army can't get into Solitude, how do you expect me to pull a heist of that magnitude and _live_?"

Klaine knew that any sane man would reject a job request that outrageous. But his employer thought ahead, and promised an absurd amount of coin should the operation succeed. "One hundred thousand gold reward. And twenty five up front before hand, for hazard pay." Orin's eyes narrowed, thinking about that juicy offer. He was thinking hard. It was hard to refuse such an incredible amount of coin, he'd be insane refusing it. But also, he'd be insane accepting such a daunting task.

"Shor's beard, what are the details?" He gave in to the offer, he couldn't resist such a delicious pay out.

Klaine grinned and shoved him lightly, "I knew you wouldn't resist." He toasted with Orin and drank more of the honey flavored drink. "Alright, the details are this. My employer wants you to clean out the royal vault completely. And obviously, you know you can't exactly take the Blue Palace hostage. No running in there and tearing into every person you see, you wouldn't get pretty far that way."

"I presume that's why you came to me? And why we're in a stormcloak controlled city?"

"Precisely, we're going to need discretion and subtlety for this to work. Which means, you're going to have to get creative."

"Wait, that means…" Orin felt like what Klaine was about to say next would be even more insane than anything he'd said before.

"Yes. That means you're going to be limited in the amount of team members you're going to have. He said at most eight. That's as many as he's going to hire, at a much smaller fee of course."

"I assume he didn't say how to get in and out of the vault without getting pierced by hundreds of imperial arrows or run through by swords?" He thought not. Employers usually didn't. They just flashed money and expected someone to do it.

"Ah, no. That's up to you to plan. That's why he hired you. No one thinks like you do, Orin." The Nordic man shifted back to the table and smashed his forehead against the wooden tabletop. "Oh, come on. That's not even the worst part."

"Really? And what is the worst part?" What could be worse than that?

"You can't recruit from anyone that's affiliated with the Thieves Guild." Orin slammed his head back onto the table. Sovngarde forgive that just narrowed his potential candidates by almost seventy five percent.

"Azura curse him, why?"

"Think about it, Orin. The Thieves Guild recovered from it's slump months ago. It controls every major hold in the province, including Windhelm. The vault's money is also the Guild's money. Stealing from it is stealing from the Guild, and they won't be happy about that."

"So if I muck this up, even the Guild will be after me?" What a job, no pressure.

"If you're not dead, yeah." Klaine gave no reassurance whatsoever. "Well, high risk high reward right?"

"It's more eminent death and very miniscule chance at reward."

Klaine snorted. "Always so cynical. You should believe in yourself more."

"Why? So things can go wrong and I'll die disappointed? Not happening. At least when I expect things to go wrong and they do, I knew it was coming." He crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. Orin knew that deep down, he was a sucker for challenges. "Where should I start recruiting then?"

Klaine gave him a list. "I can help you there. I know plenty of freelancers that would be interested in such a thing. I'll find you some people."

"Are they trustworthy and loyal?"

"Orin, they're thieves that don't answer to the honor code that the Thieves Guild has. Trustworthy and loyal are the last qualities I expect any of them to have. Willing to turn on you and being able to kill you without a second thought are probably the qualities you'll see."

"Damn. Find me the best ones you can then. I'll see whose cut out for the job. I'll take a six man team, that means five recruits." Orin felt like he was going to regret this. He shook Klaine's hand and finished his mead. "Where do you want to meet next?"

"Tavern in Rorikstead, I'll bring them there for you. Four months time." The Breton lowered his voice to a whisper. "Make sure that the Thieves Guild gets no wind of this, understood? Or else your life and mine is at risk." Orin nodded and just like that, Klaine left the tavern.

Orin stayed sitting, rubbing his face. He finished his meal and went down to rent a room. Throwing himself onto the bed, he stared at the ceiling and listened to the bard sing. "By the gods what have I gotten myself into?"

Tomorrow, he would search throughout the Gray Quarter for a list of freelancers or possible recruits from the Dark Elves. He knew to be careful, the Thieves Guild had a prominent influence in the area. If he found nothing, he'd head to Ivarstead. Freelancers congregated there often, due to it's seclusion and easy but harsh access to the other side of Skyrim through the frozen pass. It was the only way to go from Ivarstead to Falkreath without taking a monumentally long detour around the Throat of the World. With luck, he'd pick up some candidates there.

But for now, it was time to rest. He had a lot of work to do in four months.


End file.
